Dear Prince:
As you may know, Whitney Houston is dead. Michael Jackson is dead. Some people may call this a tragedy. I call it opportunity. Yes, Prince Rogers Nelson, this is an opportunity for you to prey upon people’s fears. Fears of you dying before they see you in concert. Fears of their own morality. As their favorite pop stars from their childhood continue to perish; they start to wonder if you are next or if they are next. Now is the time to capitalize on these worries by announcing the “See Me Before I Drop Dead Tour.”
On this tour, you need to break out the hits from the 1980s and keep your crappy, overproduced music from the 1990s and your nice but overlooked music from the 2000s deep in your fault. You need to give your fans a little of your hump the piano freak show. Once you start humping that piano, why don’t you just play all your filthy ditties and make it the “Dirty Forever Tour.” Bring all those freaky hits on the road: “Head”, “Jack U Off”,and” Let’s Pretend We’re Married.” Of course, you must perform Erotic City, not the instrumental version that you have been teasing fans with for a decade, but the full vocal, “We can fuck until the dawn, making love 'til cherry's gone” rendition.
This is what people want. Real people; people who have more or less forgotten about you. Ignore your 47 hardcore fans who whine and complain every time that you play “Purple Rain” or “Kiss.” And, only want you to do set-lists of the unreleased but heavily bootlegged favorites such “Empty Room” and “Wonderful Ass.” Those fans do not matter; they are crazy (says the woman who rationally writes you an open letter nearly every month).
You owe it to your fans to give them the salaciousness that they desire. Give them the shagging songs they crave. Actually, you owe it to this fan, who finally got out from under her parents' control, moved near a big city, and scraped up enough money for a ticket, the year that you stopped saying “fuck.” The wholesome, religious Prince is a has-been, wash-up who appeals to no one but a few fringe Prince fans (who like me buy everything you put out no matter how crappy it is; reads every ridiculous and embarrassing thing that you say; looks at every freaky photoshopped image that makes you look like youthful alien from the “land of once cool, now pathetic rock stars.” Seriously man, you are not Dorian Gray; there is no harm in growing old).
Prince, I know you will not go for this idea. You have repeatedly shunned the past and have done just about everything you possibly can do to permanently ruin your legacy by being a litigious, unfaithful, smug prick whose failed marriages, destroyed friendships, bad business deals, lawsuits against fans and vitriolic statements about burqas, gays, and the Internet have at times overshadowed your musical genius.
But whether you want to or not, this is what needs to be done. It is time relive the past, don the purple lamé trench coat and play “Baby, I’m a Star” until your high-heels on your boots break. This is what fans want. I know this because this is what people tell me. Yes, people me tell—as if I were your personal assistant or manager—that they want to see you in concert before they die or before you die.
If I were your manager you would not be a has-been; you would still get radio play like the Madonna who is still as charismatic but talentless as ever; you would have never scrawled “slave” on your face; you would have manned up and maturely finished your contact with Warner Bros. with the quality of music expected from a musician of your stature; you would have never sued fans for enduring enough pain to put your symbol on their bodies or loving you so much that they videotaped their babies dancing to your music. And certainly, you would be doing the “See Me Before I Drop Dead Tour.”
Because you know, no matter how much Botox you get or how many girls you bang who are younger than “Purple Rain,” you will eventually die. So, why not make a ton of that money and give fans what we desperately want…how your music made us feel back in the day. Please let us relive that one more time before you drop dead.
Best Regards,
Garbageman’s Daughter
Devoted Fan for 29 Years and 4 Months
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